


Prelude to Goodbyes

by Waywardist



Category: Bangtan, Bangtan Boys, bts
Genre: Cute Kim Taehyung | V, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kim Taehyung | V Is a Sweetheart, M/M, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, Park Jimin Is a Little Shit, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywardist/pseuds/Waywardist
Summary: so maybe i’m weak for jacking tae off in semi-public places featuring gender-ambiguous reader





	Prelude to Goodbyes

“Are you tired?” 

The question ricochets in your mind, bouncing off every synapse and still leaving nothing understood - it takes Jimin snapping his fingers in front of your face repeatedly for you to finally focus your attention on him, eyes bloodshot and vision slightly blurring. Instead of immediately responding, you take a long drawn-out swig from the plastic cup in your hand; condensation soaks your palm, droplets falling down onto the springtime grass not yet emerald green. 

“Yeah, long day.” you finally answer, once Jimin’s prodding gaze brings you to speaking. You’d told him it’d be a long day to begin with — with the end of your senior year fast approaching, you had a lot on your plate; studying for finals, finalizing your senior thesis, getting college applications out of the way. Even Fridays evenings such as these, where the cold weather finally broke into true springtime dewey humidity, were normally spent cooped up in your room. 

Jimin hadn’t understood — but that’s what you got for picking him as your best friend. Or maybe he did understand, and had wanted you to let loose - maybe that was why he was so insistent on dragging you to the party. Even if parties were never really your thing, spending time with Jimin and your friends always seemed to help. But as you gaze over the scattered sea of faces in the backyard of the two-story house, you can’t think of drinking, or laughing, or even dancing despite the bop playing over the stereo. You just want to go home. 

“Do you want to leave?” Jimin asked, bringing your attention careening towards him again. You shake your head, emptying the remaining beer from your cup into the grass before you toss the empty plastic container into the trash. Jimin knew what was up - he wanted to come to this party for a reason, and the least you could do was lighten up. For all you knew, it could’ve been the last party of your senior year. 

You turn to Jimin then, plastering your best attempt at a smile onto your face. He seems less than convinced, but hey - fake it til you make it, right? “I’m gonna get some water. Beer makes me tired. You want anything?” 

Your best friend raises his cup to you, once filled with cheap wine but now empty, and you understand wordlessly. You nod, taking his cup in hand, and excuse yourself from where you two had been standing and listening to music by the back fence. Carding your way through the people, you find yourself in the kitchen, crowded with people both pouring and spilling drinks. The alcohol is safer in the kitchen sink where it can’t be easily spilled over, and you walk over and begin sitting through the different bottles. 

You find what Jimin wants, mesmerized by the beauty of the deep red color, and pour it — but you stop in the doorway leading to the backyard, frown on your face. 

Jimin was already occupied with something else — that something being Jungkook, that junior everyone fawned over, and you watched with mild amusement as they laughed and danced together, each trying to outdo the other with obnoxiously elaborate moves. Not wanting to interrupt, you roll your eyes in response before you turn on your heel, taking a step forward into the house to leave the wine for someone else to drink. 

But the second you take a step forward, the cup in your hand collides with someone’s chest, sending a spray of deep crimson up against your face, down your neck and all over your shirt and pants. Your initial response is to let out a loud “fuck,” gazing down despondently at your surely ruined shirt. 

“Ah, shit — I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were turning—” 

Dazed and more than a little bit exhausted, you glance up at the culprit, finding yourself somewhat relaxed that it was only Taehyung and not a complete stranger — somewhat. But then you saw the ruby flecks on the front of his undoubtedly Gucci white button-down, and your face blanches. 

“Tae, oh my god - I’m so sorry!” you stammer, hand shooting out to toss the half-empty cup onto the counter. Your hands finger the hem of the shirt to bring it up closer as you lean down to look, a strip of caramel skin just barely visible under the lifted cloth, and you find yourself staring at it for a second too long before Taehyung pulls away an inch. “It’s fine, seriously, it’s no big deal,” he answers, and you release his shirt, neck swiveling one way to another in search of the laundry room. 

“Look, there’s probably bleach, or some detergent — I think if we work fast, we can fix it.” 

You make your way to the door adjacent to the kitchen, throwing it open and flicking on the light - to your relief, it is indeed a laundry room. Taehyung follows you, shutting the door behind the two of you; the music outside becomes muffled, almost distant - you feel more relaxed now that your ears aren’t on the verge of popping. You stand on tiptoes to reach the cupboards above the washer and dryer, shoving container after container aside in search od anything that might help.

“Are you ready for graduation?” Taehyung asks from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see him leant up against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes observing. You shrug and return to your search. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” you respond, and it’s true. But you can’t imagine parting ways with Jimin and honestly, the thought of not seeing Taehyung anymore makes you equally bitter. 

Even if you had never hung out with Taehyung — or any of Jimin’s seven closest friends — privately, your time spent together as a group of eight had made you grow to love all of them — you couldn’t imagine not having Hoseok and Jungkook there to brighten your days when you were down, you couldn’t imagine not having Jin’s jokes, you couldn’t imagine not swapping music with Namjoon, you couldn’t imagine not rolling your eyes at Jimin and Jungkook. And you certainly couldn’t imagine not having Taehyung. 

He had been the one you were closest to when Jimin wasn’t around - there was something about Taehyung’s shameless, carefree attitude that drew you in as if magnetized, and god, he was beautiful. You would have seen him every day if you had things your way - but you refused to go after any of Jimin’s friends, for fear of disrupting the friend circle and potentially costing someone a friendship. So you maintained your distance, and ignored the times it felt like maybe, just maybe, Taehyung was flirting with you. 

Finally — detergent, loose laundry detergent that wasn’t in a Tide pod. You pull the container from the cupboard, uncapping it and pouring some lime green liquid into the cap before you turn to Taehyung. “Are /you/ ready?” you teased, one hand dipping your fingers into the cup. Your dry hand held the cup, your forefinger and middle finger of the other hand coated in the dense liquid as you began to rub it onto the splotches on his shirt. Your own shirt was long forgotten, well aware it was insanely cheap compared to Taehyung’s. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shrug, and you can sense the tenseness of his body language; it makes you tense in return, ducking your head to avoid eye contact. “I’m excited for my photography scholarship.” Taehyung murmured, and you could nearly hear the vibrations of his voice against his chest. You wanted to sleep on him. His hand reaches out, fingers gracing your bare elbow, and you wonder if maybe he’s drunk - but the only trace of alcohol wafting from him is on his shirt. “And I’m just not ready to leave some people.”

Your heart all but drops with the implication, immediately wondering just who it was — and if you were a part of this equation. His shirt feels like silk between your slicked fingers and your curiosity finally bests your shyness - you look up, eyes meeting with Taehyung’s. Your heart skips again, eyes glued to the other’s electric gaze as you stand there, inches away, with a million things on your mind but your body frozen—

Taehyung leans down, and your eyes close on instinct; his lips on yours are softer than you could have ever imagined, and a pleased little sigh escapes the back of your throat. He responds immediately; the hand on your elbow moves to your waist, slender fingers strong against the shape of your hip as he backs you up against the dryer. The feeling of the metal edge prodding into your lower back has you gasping, which Taehyung immediately claims with his teeth on your lower lip. 

His strong hands find your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the dryer behind you as if you weighed nothing; the metal groaning in protest underneath you says otherwise, and you both give a small laugh at the sound. The lid of laundry detergent is immediately forgotten once you set it down next to you, your now free hand resting on the back of Taehyung’s neck to pull him in for another kiss. 

He kisses you like he’s been dreaming of it for as long as you have, as if he’s been wanting it for years. You lose yourself in his kiss, and you don’t feel as shy as you always do; you feel comfortable with him, enough so that your legs spread to allow him to come closer until his hips are flush against the machine beneath you, as close as he can get with his hands on your hips and his tongue sliding along yours. 

You aren’t sure what it is that encourages you to do the impossible and make the next move - it could be the fact that you’ve bee wanting this for years, it could be the fact that you knew this could be your last chance — but your hands move to the front of his pants and attempt to undo his button, though the detergent on your fingers makes it difficult. 

You get it done nonetheless, zipper down and hand sliding past the elastic of his underwear until your fingers are wrapping around the hard warmth of his base. He gasps, a short, sharp hiss between clenched teeth at the sudden attention, and his hand moves almost instinctually to touch you — but you nudge his arm aside, prompting him to pull away from the kiss to look at you with a quizzical expression. 

He’s gorgeous, breathtakingly so, all glamorous edges and sharp features, so beautiful that his direct gaze makes you squirm; you duck your head to fun open-mouthed kisses along the pulse in his neck, relishing in the way his body shudders and his dick twitches in your grasp.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmur, lips moving against the silk of his neck. Your hand begins to move in small strokes, thankful for the detergent and what gentle lubricant it provided. Taehyung shudders again in response, teeth clenching down on his bottom lip as his neck cranes to rest his forehead against your shoulder. 

You were in heaven, with your hand drawing long, graceful strokes along Taehyung’s shaft and your arousal obvious between your legs; but however turned on you became, your focus was only him, and making him feel good. Shudder after shudder rippled through his body, the detergent mixing with the precum that had begun to leak from his slit as your strokes became broader and quicker. An occasional whimper would escape his lips, the tone alien to you, who was used to his deep voice. The sound of him biting back made you smile; you paused your strokes at the tip, your fingers running small circular motions around the ridges of his head as you thumbed his slit. 

“Tae,” you murmured, and he gasped, “they can’t hear you. The music’s too loud. Don’t worry about them.” 

The reassurance seemed to be all he needed, because his response was a groan so low and so drawn out it sounded almost like a growl, and you almost came undone immediately. 

Silence was suddenly beyond Taehyung; when he wasn’t groaning, he was gasping, alternating between the two noises as you began to stroke him faster, the sound of slicked skin against skin and his delectable noises far more interesting to you than the ruckus and music playing right outside the door. 

His forehead remained against your shoulder, moans in your ear and cock twitching in your hand as you closed your legs around his waist. Suddenly his moans increased in pitch and intensity, the frequency of them causing your heart to skip and your core to burn. You wanted him - though not as badly as you wanted to see him come undone. 

His groans became breathless pants as you stroked him, and suddenly his large hands clapped against the tops of your thighs, squeezing you roughly as he suddenly grunted, hips jerking forward in a rough, staggered motion; sweat beaded at his brow and obscenities fell from his kiss-raw lips and the combination of it all has you coming untouched, your own body shuddering in time with his as he coats your fingers in his warmth. 

Neither of you moved; his hands remained on your thighs and your fingers remained curled around him even after he had stopped twitching in your grasp. You were worried, then - that he’d say something and make you regret everything, or that he regretted everything himself. But he moved forward to dust his lips against yours, the kiss soft and sweet and loving enough to make you want more, though you pulled away when he did. You wiped your hand against your thigh automatically, immediately recognizing your mistake when he laughed. You made a face, and he reached forward to tap fingertips on the underside of your chin. 

“Guess we better clean up for real this time.”


End file.
